The Death Of Monteith
by leamichelesarfati
Summary: (MONCHELE FIC) In the early hours of the morning Lea reflects on the death of her boyfriend.


She woke up thinking about him. Her eyes flew open, and for a moment while she was sitting rigidly upright, his eyes flashed in front of her. Now she couldn't get him out of her head. No matter how many deep breaths she took, no matter how many times she tried to close her eyes and forget, his smile lingered in her mind's eye.

Slowly, she rose from the bed, clad in swear pants and a t-shirt. Sliding her feet into her plush slippers, she recognized for the first time that morning the steady pitter-patter of rain. Crossing over to the window, she shifted the curtain aside to reveal the shining wet street. She sighed heavily, realizing that her hike was not going to happen this morning. Slowly she made her way down the stairs leading to the kitchen to fix herself some tea. Then she changed her mind, deciding it was more of a coffee morning. She got the feeling she could use the extra kick.

As she waited for her coffee to brew, she climbed onto the couch and flipped through the channels on the television, but of course there was nothing of interest on at six in the morning. The coffee maker beeped signaling that it had finished. She relished the taste of the coffee in her mouth; it was a welcoming bit of heat in the cold cane not just from the weather.

Making a quick decision, she stood in front of the wooden bookshelf, searching for something that she hadn't dared look at in a while. Finding it, she reached slowly towards the thick volume, hesitating a second before her fingers grasped it. She pulled it down slowly from its perch, handling it as if it were a precious object. There, on the front was a picture of the two of them. They looked incredibly happy, incredibly content in each other's company. Vaguely, she wondered if she had ever looked like that since… Well since then. She clutched at the necklace around her neck. It was his. Slowly she opened the first page of the photo album and once again was faced with the intensity of his brown eyes.

Running her fingers over the picture of his face, everything came flooding back. His eyes, the feel of his skin, his smile the way his lips felt on hers… She closed the album with a snap. She wasn't ready for this. She couldn't possibly face all these memories at this hour of the morning. Shaking slightly, she returned the keepsake to its shelf. Suddenly, the freedom of the outside air seemed all the more enticing.

The rain fell slowly around her as she walked the familiar streets, her feet going where they pleased as her mind focused on other matters. Or rather, her mind tried it's hardest not to focus on other matters. She stopped to look up, all too late realizing where she had gone out of sheer habit. The iron gates loomed menacingly over her head, black and sparkling with raindrops. As much as she would have loved to turn back, that was not a possibility now that she had reached this point. Slowly and deliberately she pushed open the gates and began her solemn march through the rows of tombstones. She hated this place. Death hung heavily in the air, and silent whispers of lives lost floated among the graves. Strangely enough however, when she was there on her morning hikes, it was the only time she could think clearly.

Eventually, her steps slowed from a brisk walk to a heavy stride until they stopped altogether. She had reached the place where she should see his name, and sure enough as she gradually turned she was faced with the smooth surface of his headstone. Crouching low on her knees, disregarding the muddy condition of the ground, she stared for what seemed like an eternity. Again and again she read the name engraved in the cold stone, Cory Monteith. She began to wonder how many others had done this before her. How many have come to the grave of a loved one still half expecting that person to show up at their side at any given moment? Tears began to cultivate at the corners of her eyes as she was assaulted with the memories of their time together. It was short and fleeting, but it was perfect.

During the time in her life when she was lost, it was Cory who found her again. Despite the many times she had tried to put this feeling into words less cliché, she had never succeeded in doing so. He was always so patient, so conscious of her pain. In his arms she felt love in its truest and purest form, and now she was sure she would never be capable of feeling that again. Every bit of him still captivated her in a way that no one else would ever be able to accomplish.

Tears streamed down her face in rivulets now, mixing with the icy rain. She remembered the day of his funeral; she was still expecting him to be standing beside her, holding her hand and stroking it with his thumb, even though she could plainly see him inside the coffin. She remembered at the wake when she had kissed his cheek, after the others had cleared out, how cold it was. That stiff, lifeless thing was not Cory. He was full of mirth and life, and was always quick to smile. She can see him now sitting beside her, glowing with happiness, and for an instant, things are normal again. But when she reaches out to hold him, all she can feel is the air between her fingers and the rain splattering on her skin.

She begs God for Cory to come before her tightly shuteyes, so that she can open them, and see something other than death. But Cory is dead. The last time she heard the word, death, it had taken a family member, Grandpa. She didn't understand it fully for the longest time, but everyday she was aware that he was gone, it had left a gaping hole in her family. This time, she understands it's meaning. Cory will also be gone, every day from this one forward. She would never, ever see him again. She and Cory might as well of shared their organs, for half her heart is absent from her chest, and a dull ache inhibits that empty space, making it hurt to think, and see, and breathe.


End file.
